It wasn't until Nezuko's sudden arrival broke the quiet stillness in the air that the three of them began heading back together.
Along the way, Makomo remained lost in her thoughts—still caught in that embarrassing, drifting imagination of what she should do if Soma wanted to know something more… personal about her.
Nezuko, walking beside her, tilted her head slightly and glanced at Makomo, who seemed absent-minded, almost dazed.
For some reason, a subtle sense of unease began to rise in her heart.
…
Night fell without anyone noticing.
The bustling streets of Tokyo remained as lively as ever.
A man walked alone through the dark road, his pace steady and unhurried. He wore a military cap adorned with a wolf-head insignia and a long black cloak draped over his shoulders. His hair framed his face in sharp, triangular bangs, while similar triangular markings stretched across his face.
His crimson eyes were cast downward. One sclera was pitch black, and within the iris of his left eye, the kanji for "Lower Rank Three" was clearly engraved.
"Tap… tap…"
The heavy sound of military boots echoed against the ground as the man suddenly came to a halt.
At some unknown moment, several figures had appeared ahead of him—seven or eight in total. Under the pale moonlight, their backs were illuminated, and the words "Destroyer of Demons" etched on their uniforms stood out clearly.
Without a word, each of them drew their Nichirin Swords.
The blades slid free, gleaming coldly in the night. That reflected light revealed faces filled with determination—and eyes burning with hatred.
"Demon Slayer swordsmen…"
The man murmured softly, still keeping his head lowered, his voice calm.
"You're still using such outdated weapons?"
"Swordsmanship… no matter how refined, it's already useless."
No one responded.
Instead, the silence broke with movement.
In an instant, the Demon Slayers surged forward, their breathing styles propelling them at speeds far beyond ordinary humans. Under the moonlight, their blades cut through the air with lethal intent.
BANG!
A dull gunshot rang out.
One of the advancing swordsmen collapsed immediately, falling lifeless before he could even react.
Year after year of arduous swordsmanship training—utterly helpless against a firearm.
The man looked up at that moment, blowing on the smoking gun in his hand. Watching the Demon Slayer swordsmen still closing in, a mocking smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "Brave swordsmen! The times have changed."
As he spoke, he drew two pistols from his waist.
Bang... Bang.
Two more shots echoed through the night.
Two more swordsmen fell.
By now, two of the remaining Demon Slayers had already closed the distance. Their Nichirin Swords gleamed sharply as they struck, but the man evaded their attacks with effortless ease.
In the same instant, he reloaded his firearm.
His heavy boots stepped back, dodging another slash, while his gloved finger calmly pulled the trigger.
Bang. Bang.
The bullets fired cleanly, piercing straight through the swordsmen's foreheads, ending their lives instantly.
Bang. Bang. Bang…
Gunshots echoed relentlessly through the night sky as one swordsman after another collapsed to the ground.
In the end—
Only the man remained, standing quietly amidst the blood-soaked street, completely unharmed.
"The era has changed," he said, lifting his head to gaze at the moon hanging in the dark sky. "Swordsmanship… no matter how refined, is no longer enough. It cannot compete with guns."
Lowering his gaze, he looked at the fallen swordsmen—at the Nichirin Swords still clenched tightly in their hands even in death.
The blades emitted a presence he found deeply unpleasant.
Even so, he crouched down, pried open one of the dead swordsman's stiff fingers, and picked up the Nichirin Sword.
Holding it up, he let the moonlight reflect off the blade, its cold gleam sharp and unforgiving.
As he stared at it, his expression shifted slightly, as though he had been pulled into distant memories.
Once…
He had been just like them.
A man who believed in the way of the sword.
A warrior who had once stood strong, wielding a blade with unwavering conviction.
But everything had changed after that single shot.
No matter how long he had trained, no matter how many years of effort he had poured into mastering the sword, it had all been shattered in an instant by someone who had never trained at all—felled by a single, casual pull of the trigger.
"…What was it that I had been clinging to all this time?"
The man stared at the sharp edge of the Nichirin Sword, his expression twisted with pain. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he raised his left hand and aimed the gun at his own head.
Bang. Bang.
At point-blank range, the bullets tore through his head. Blood and fragments spilled from the wounds as they streamed downward—but instead of agony, a look of pure satisfaction spread across his face.
The gaping holes in his head began to close at a visible rate, flesh knitting itself back together in moments.
"…That feels better."
He muttered softly. The unbearable memories—those lingering pains—seemed to vanish along with the sharp sting of the bullets.
Lowering the gun, he kept the Nichirin Sword as well, claiming it as his trophy.
How many trophies had he collected by now?
Seventy? Eighty-nine?
He could no longer remember.
But none of these were the trophies he truly desired.
The one he longed for… was the man who had once shattered both his body and his spirit.
Even now, the hatred burned just as fiercely.
That man's name…
What was it again?
Rengoku Shinjuro.
Yes.
Rengoku Shinjuro.
Even in his drunken state after losing his wife—without even using his full strength—he had still crushed him completely. With nothing more than a sake gourd, he had smashed his skull and reduced his body to pieces.
That nightmare-like pain…
Even now, he remembered it vividly.
That overwhelming terror—the helplessness of being utterly unable to resist—
It remained just as clear.
That humiliation…
He had never forgotten.
For years, he had endured, growing stronger. And now, he had finally risen to become one of the Twelve Kizuki—Lower Rank Two.
"I've slaughtered so many here… as a Hashira, you should appear soon, shouldn't you, Rengoku Shinjuro?"
He lifted his head, gazing at the darkened sky, anticipation flickering in his crimson eyes—as if he could already see it.
He could already picture it clearly: pressing that man's head into the ground beneath his foot, then leaning down to speak to him face to face—
"I am the demon you once cut into pieces… the one who refused to die."
He would tell him personally.
"I'm the demon whose name you didn't even bother to ask back then… the one called Hairo."
"And now…"
"I am Lower Rank Two."
"Rengoku Shinjuro… are you ready?"
…
Mount Sagiri.
After dinner, Soma went down to the foot of the mountain to wait.
Before long, hurried footsteps approached. It was a member of the Kakushi, carrying two large box.
"…Are you Soma-sama?"
The Kakushi stopped a short distance away, asking cautiously.
"Yes."
Soma nodded.
Only then did the Kakushi relax slightly. He stepped forward and handed over the two boxes.
"These contain… rather restricted weapons. Please exercise caution when using them, especially around the authorities. If things escalate too much, even the Ubuyashiki family may have difficulty resolving it…"
"I'll be careful."
Soma nodded again.
Seeing him accept the boxes, the Kakushi let out a quiet breath of relief before speaking respectfully once more.
"Master Kiriya also sends his regards. If you have any needs, he will do his utmost to fulfill them."
"Please convey my thanks to him." Soma inclined his head slightly.
The Kakushi said nothing further. Instead, he bowed deeply on the spot. "I wish you great success in your martial path."
Soma watched as he departed, then lowered his gaze and opened the boxes.
Inside one were various firearms—a rifle, Nambu Type pistols, and revolvers.
The other contained matching ammunition.
Soma picked up one of the revolvers, turning it lightly in his hand for a moment before securing it at his waist. Then he closed the box.
These firearms had all been delivered at Soma's request by Kiriya Ubuyashiki. Acquiring such weapons on his own would have been no easy task—the authorities kept strict control over them.
Carrying the boxes, Soma moved swiftly through the forest, leaping between the trees. Before long, he reached the mountainside of Mount Sagiri.
After a full day of training, most people had already gone to rest.
Soma stopped, boxes in hand, his gaze falling on a wisteria tree ahead.
Beneath the softly blooming branches stood a beautiful girl, quietly waiting.
A gentle breeze stirred, causing her long black hair to sway. Her pale violet-pink eyes brightened the moment she saw him.
"You're still not asleep?" Soma asked as he walked closer.
"You weren't back yet, Uncle… I couldn't sleep."
Kanao stepped forward naturally and gently leaned into his arms.
With both hands occupied by the boxes, Soma couldn't pat her head as he usually did.
Though she felt a little unaccustomed to it, she understood why. She moved to help him carry the boxes instead.
"They're a bit heavy. I'll carry them myself," Soma said.
Kanao didn't insist. She always followed his words without question. No matter what he asked of her, she would carry it out—even at the cost of her life.
Instead of returning to his room, Soma turned toward a nearby building. Kanao followed closely, like a shadow at his side.
Soon, under the dim moonlight, they saw Genya Shinazugawa in the courtyard, still practicing his breathing styles.
A boy who, due to his weak constitution, was unable to properly learn Breathing Styles.
Urokodaki had already made it clear—his body simply wasn't suited for it.
And yet, Genya refused to give up.
Again and again, he tried.
Drawing in deep breaths, forcing his body to comply—only to fail each time, his body unable to endure the strain.
Failure after failure.
An outcome that seemed almost destined never to change.
At last, the boy dropped to his knees, overwhelmed by despair and frustration.
Tap, tap...
The sound of footsteps reached him.
Genya turned his head, his eyes landing on the figure approaching.
Under the moonlight, the tall silhouette of the man stirred a distant memory—of his older brother carrying him on his back when he was young.
For a brief moment, he was lost in that memory.
Then he stood up, lowering his head slightly.
"Are you here to tell me the same thing as Urokodaki-sensei… that I can't walk the path of a demon slayer?"
"No."
Soma stepped forward, the boxes still in his hands. Behind him, Kanao remained quietly within his shadow.
"Then… why are you here?"
"To find you another path."
Soma looked directly at him.
"A path to hunt demons… without relying on Breathing Syles."
Genya's breathing grew ragged in an instant. His entire body trembled.
Repeated failures had pushed him to the brink of despair. He had nearly lost all hope of ever fighting alongside his brother.
But now—
In that pitch-black world—
A single light had appeared.
At that moment, an indescribable surge of emotion filled his heart.
"…Really?"
The disbelief in his voice was unmistakable, as if he feared this might all be nothing more than an illusion.
"Yeah." Soma nodded.
Looking at the man's calm and steady gaze, Genya felt that towering figure overlap once more with the memory of his brother from long ago.
A past that could never return—
Yet remained so precious.
"Th… thank you."
Genya didn't know what else to say. All he could manage was a clumsy expression of gratitude.
Standing quietly in Soma's shadow, Kanao tilted her head as she watched him.
In that moment, she saw a reflection of her former self.
Back then, in a world filled with despair and darkness, Soma had appeared like a ray of light—saving her.
And now…
He was going to save this boy too.